


Tongues in the Kettle

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Suggestive Themes, Texting, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is distraught after John leaves him, and begins to wonder whether any of what John said was true.<br/>Many Johnlock kisses, established relationship and fluffy angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongues in the Kettle

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, Sherlock belongs to ACD and Mofftiss and le BBC
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock was cold and wet and quite frankly insanely moody. John didn’t come with him on this case because he and Sherlock had fought over putting tongues in the kettle again. He had stormed out of the house; he never was very good in the mornings unless he had his tea.

The case had led him to the Thames, so, naturally, Sherlock ended up being tossed into the freezing depths.  Thank god he had taken his coat off beforehand.

Lestrade came along very soon after, pulling Sherlock from the icy depths, saving the coat but unfortunately it was too late to save his phone. Damn.

“Sherlock, you can’t just go running off on your own!” Lestrade scolded, “Where’s John to keep you off the streets?”

Sherlock huffed, “I can do what I want to. And John got annoyed at me again.”

“Oh god, what have you done now?” Lestrade sighed exasperatedly.

“Oh nothing important, John just couldn’t have his morning cup of tea. You know how he is.” Sherlock smiled fondly, but quickly wiped it from his face.

“Sherlock, he’s only human you know.” Greg said.

Sherlock scowled, “Obviously. So am I.”

The Inspector shook his head with a smile before catching sight of a thin, dapper looking man leaning on a slick black car, swinging an umbrella with enough force to incapacitate a child who might walk by, “Sherlock, isn’t that your brother?”

 “Oh, for god’s sake” Sherlock groaned, turning to face Mycroft, who waved sarcastically (it is possible).

“Just go see him; he’s probably got a case for you or something.” Lestrade prompted.

“Well any case is less dull than this one,” Sherlock muttered but advanced towards his sibling, throwing words over his shoulder, “Goodbye, Lestrade.”

 Mycroft merely nodded to the car when Sherlock reached him, and despite the muttering and scowling he was soon seated in the beautifully warm vehicle.

“Why are you here, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, exasperated.

“Why am I where? In my own car?” he replied.

“Oh, shut up. What do you want me for?”

“I’ve got a new phone for you. Same number, as usual. I felt obliged since your phone is now at the bottom of the Thames.”

“Right then,” Sherlock replied, snatching the phone off his brother, “Anything else, or can I leave now?”

Mycroft smiled that smile and Sherlock knew something was up, “How’s John currently, brother dear?”

“He’s fine. We’re fine.”

The elder raised his eyebrow, “So that argument which involved a broken mug, annoyed neighbours and John’s angry departure was ‘fine’, was it?”

“That’s none of your business, _Mycroft._ ” He spat.

“I think the welfare of my brother is my business, _Sherlock._ ”

“What are you talking about, ‘my welfare’?” he scowled.

“My surveillance from around Baker Street detected Dr Watson leaving an hour ago in a taxi with three fully packed suitcases, with instructions for the driver to take him to his sister’s house in Pembrokeshire. The driver was reluctant at first, but he offered to tip him £50 if he ‘got him out of here quickly’ and was more than happy to accept.”

Sherlock’s spine was rigid, sitting stock still, a panicked expression only just visible on his face, “He’s gone?”

“Apparently so. What did you do this time?” Mycroft asked again, softly this time, feeling concern for Sherlock.

Sherlock had paled considerably, and asked quietly, “Has he- has he _left_ me?”

“He has packed for quite a long stay, but before we jump to conclusions you should probably ask him yourself.”

Whipping the new phone out, Sherlock tapped out a text furiously.

**_John? Why are you at your sister’s? SH_ **

“Sherlock, we both know this can’t just be the argument this morning. What else has happened?”

“What, apart from the fact I’m a sociopathic freak who can’t even keep someone around for more than a year before they leave in disgust?”

“Sherlock, you’re not that at all.” Mycroft said softly.

“John doesn’t seem to agree with you.” He snapped.

Both Sherlock and Mycroft spent the next ten minute ride to Baker Street in silence, awaiting a reply from John. It didn’t come.

Sherlock, ever impatient, shot out another text, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

**_It’s ok if you don’t want to talk to me, but can you just answer so I know. SH_ **

**_I won’t leave tongues in the kettle anymore. I promise. SH_ **

**_I’m sorry. SH_ **

As the car pulled up to 221b, there was still no reply. Mycroft nodded a goodbye to his brother and gave a smile. Sherlock just paled again and nodded sadly in reply, climbing out of the car and into the house.

It was deathly quiet.

Mrs Hudson was on holiday with her sister and John- John was gone.

Pulling his phone out in a last ditch attempt, he called John, only to be directed to voicemail; ‘ _John’s phone here, sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but I’m probably on a case with Sherlock or he’s being an insufferable git. Leave a message if it’s important.’_ ‘ _John hurry up I’m getting cold-’ ‘Coming, Sherl-’BEEP._

He didn’t bother leaving a message.

**_John, answer me please. SH_ **

He waited at the foot of the stairs for half an hour, praying for a reply. Eventually, Sherlock gave up on waiting. If John had just gone for a visit then he would have told Sherlock, or texted him by now. Even if he hadn’t yet texted, John would definitely reply to Sherlock, especially to a phone call from him. It could only be one thing; John had left him just like everyone else.

He climbed the rest of the stairs and went straight into their room (Sherlock’s technically, further away from Mrs Hudson). There were none of John’s clothes in the draws or wardrobe, except a few socks, an odd ratty t-shirt and a suit that Sherlock had bought him for their anniversary, but other than that the draws looked they had been haphazardly tipped into the suitcases.

Sherlock fell onto the bed fully clothed and closed his eyes, smelling the scent that was _John_ on his side of the bed, but slowly fading into Sherlock’s own scent.

He had thought John was different. He had thought he and John were different, that nothing could ever ruin them. It was a sweet irony that if was his own actions that had torn them apart, just because he was a stupid sociopathic _freak._

“Oh god, John!”  He cried desperately.

 ----

Sherlock really didn’t want to wake up that morning; it was always easier just to dream of John than to wake up with him gone.

His phone buzzed from the side table and Sherlock grabbed it as fast as he could. Maybe it was John!

**Get up Sherlock. Lestrade is coming. MH**

Sherlock huffed when he saw it was only Mycroft.

**_Shove off Mycroft. SH_ **

**No. Lestrade has a case for you and you will do it. MH**

**_Don’t want to. Need John. SH_ **

**He’s not there, though. MH**

**_I am aware of that, My. SH_ **

He started thinking about why John left in more detail. Mycroft was right; it can’t just be the tongues in the kettle, there must be something else. Had John had these feelings before Sherlock’s experiment? Had he been planning on leaving already? He was snapped out of his concentration by a knock on the door downstairs.

“Come in Lestrade!” Sherlock bellowed, before looking back down at his phone. He sent another text to John.

**_Do you want to talk? SH_ **

He didn’t get a reply. He didn’t expect one anyway.

He sauntered down the stairs, still in his clothes from yesterday, nodded to Lestrade who was waiting in the sitting room.

“Erm, I didn’t know you were still in bed. Is John up there too?” Greg asked, blushing lightly, “I can come back later if you’re busy...”

“What? Don’t be stupid, Lestrade, John isn’t even here.” He snapped.

 “Oh? Where is he?”

“He’s not here.” Sherlock’s voice wavered a bit, but Lestrade didn’t notice, “He’s gone. He’s moved out.”

Lestrade whipped his head around to face Sherlock, “What!?”

“He’s moved out; even an idiot like you should know what that means.”

Lestrade ignored that last part, “Why!? It’s _John,_ why would he move out; he loves you?!”

“It’s just as you said; he’s only human. I guess he realised how much of a freak I am.” Sherlock said, apparently nonchalantly, but inside he felt sick.

“Sherlock,” Greg said tentatively, tilting his head, “You’re not a freak.”

“Why else would he leave then!?” Sherlock yelled.

There was an awkward silence.

“When did he go?”

“Yesterday, when I was on the case; Mycroft’s men said they saw him getting into a taxi with all of his things.”

“And? He could just be visiting someone.” Greg said hopefully.

“He’s not. He won’t answer any of my texts or calls.” Sherlock said sadly, “He _always_ answers my texts, no matter how mad he is, and generally if I call it means I could either be on fire or have set something on fire.”

Another silence.

“Sherlock, are you ok?”

“Yes.” he answered shortly, “Now, I know you have a case for me, but I can tell it will be dull.”

_Everything was so dull without John._

“I know, Sherlock.” Lestrade smiled fondly, “I’ll be off. If you need anything, I’ll be there ok? You’ll be ok in a few months, I promise. I was with my wife.”

“But your wife went off with another man. John’s just gone. Unless he- No, he wouldn’t...” Sherlock mused.

Lestrade shook his head sadly, “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, and I’ll help you, ok?”

“Yes. Thanks.” he replied almost stiffly.

And with that Lestrade left the flat and Sherlock, who was rattling off another text.

**_Have you found someone else? Is that why you’ve gone? SH_ **

**_I don’t mind, just as long as you’re home. SH_ **

Of course he minded; John was his and his alone. He was Sherlock’s first and only everything and the thought that someone else could be satisfying his needs better makes Sherlock’s chest tighten and throat hurt. Sherlock loved him, but he guessed love was just another stupid emotion that John felt all the time, not special like it was for Sherlock.

**_The offer still stands; if you want to come back it’ll be more than fine. SH_ **

**_Please. SH_ **

No reply.

 ----

In the next week, Sherlock had never felt so alone.

That included when he was an 8 year old boy with no friends who was bullied every day; a 12 year old with his only friend being his brother, now left for College; when he was a 20 year-old high on drugs in an old, damp flat; when he was a thirty-something freak of Scotland Yard.

Now he was a 35 year old Consulting Detective who had managed to make his best friend and the man he loved leave him. Leave him forever.

This thought hurt Sherlock, so he wanted to clarify again that John was always welcome back, no matter how many years it took.

**_It’s alright if you want to come back. SH_ **

There was a ‘to me’ missing at the end of that text, but there was no way it wasn’t implied.

**_I really do miss you. SH_ **

**_\----_ **

The following week was just as bad, the only condolence being the texts to could send to John, even if they were unread. He had thought about the drugs for a bit, but he knew John would definitely never come back if he did _that._

The texts got more and more sentimental.

**_Do you want to come home yet? SH_ **

**_You can have the flat, and I’ll go if you want. SH_ **

**_You still have to get the rest of your things. SH_ **

**_I could send them round to you. SH_ **

No reply at the end of that day, and he didn’t sleep or eat in anticipation.

**_I miss you. SH_ **

**_I miss you, a lot. SH_ **

**_Lestrade has a case for me. Anderson is on forensics. I need you. SH_ **

**_I need you. SH_ **

**_I miss you. SH_ **

**_I’m sorry. SH_ **

His brain couldn’t function properly without the sleep, food or John and it took him twice as long to solve the case for Lestrade. He’s convinced that Lestrade think he’s back on the drugs from the way that he looks at him. But he would never do that to John, never because he promised. Then again, John had promised Sherlock that he’s stay... It’s nice to know one person can keep a promise.

**_I love you. SH_ **

**_I’m going to stop texting now. SH_ **

**_Goodbye John. I love you. SH_ **

These were sent at the end of the third week, as he sat staring at the needle and bottle on the coffee table. He had no intention of killing himself, just of relieving the pain and boredom. He picked up the needle and held it over his arm, about to plunge it in when he caught sight of the large framed photograph on the mantle piece.

It was John and him at Christmas, under the mistletoe, John pulling him down into the kiss, while Sherlock, red-cheeked and embarrassed, kiss back furiously. John’s eyes were open and staring at Sherlock closed ones with such love and awe and sensuality that Sherlock dropped the needle and stood up to see the picture better. Only Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson had been in the room but Sherlock still counted it as PDA and he had never really been a one for that, but when it was John he found it hard to care at all. He was unsure of who took the picture, but he was extremely thankful they did as he basically hugged it close to his chest, subconsciously stepping and smashing the needle on his way back to the sofa. He remembered that this was the day John told him he loved him, and when he said it in return.

 _No,_ he thought, _drugs won’t be necessary. Nothing will ever be as effective as John, even just in memory._

_\----  
_

John packed up the rest of his clothes and shoved them in the taxi. He checked his phone, but the signal was still down. Stupid Pembrokeshire.

At least Harry was doing ok now; he didn’t feel so guilty leaving. Sherlock was probably annoying Scotland Yard, starving himself and leaving body parts around the flat. Christ, you can’t leave that man for two minutes never mind three weeks. He was miserable that he hadn’t talked to his lover in so long, but at least it would make the reunion twice as sweet.

He kissed Harry goodbye and climbed into the taxi for the 4 hour drive back home.

John swiftly fell asleep in the taxi to the thoughts of Sherlock and was only awoken as the taxi pulled up into Baker Street. John sleepily thrust a handful of notes to the driver, pulled his cases from the boot and opened the front door.

Mrs Hudson was still on holiday with her sister, so John hoped Lestrade and Mycroft had been keeping him in order. John’s phone buzzed in his pocket, but he had no free hand to check it and decided to wait until he got into the flat.

“Sherlock, I’m home!” John called, as he ascended the stairs, “I hope you haven’t killed anyone, blown anything up, or killed yourself, love.”

When he looked up, John saw Sherlock standing just beyond the doorway, white as a sheet. God, John had missed his big idiot. Sherlock’s mind was short-circuiting. John had gone and left him alone and now he was back as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t ignored all of the texts and calls from the last two weeks, as though he hadn’t broken Sherlock’s heart into tiny pieces and scattered them about.

“Hello! Have you not been eating? You look really peaky.” John fussed, while Sherlock just stared in silence, unsure what to say.

 _John mustn’t want to talk about it,_ Sherlock thought, _he must want to go back to how it was. How was it anyway? John getting an easy fuck when he wanted? Act like nothing ever happened._

Sherlock loved John with everything he had, and if the only way to keep him was through unrequited love, then he would take what he could get. Oh, he really did love John, so very much.

“Not talking, eh? Well you did warn me when we met, I suppose.” John pressed a kiss to his lips.

Sherlock pressed hard into the kiss too, back John up into the wall and pushing his tongue in. They kissed like this for a while, before Sherlock pulled back and started placing delicate kisses all over John’s face while pulling his shirt from off his shoulders.

“Ooh, someone’s eager!” he giggled, pulling Sherlock up the stairs and into the bedroom.

When they dragged each other onto the bed, devoid of all clothes, Sherlock worshipped John with kisses, whispering ‘I love you’ onto his skin, John not only hearing every word but _feeling_ them too. John was too far gone to even form a coherent word.

Sherlock poured his love onto every inch of John, hoping but not expecting the three simple words once in return. What had changed since those Christmas days, when he was so sure that John loved him? He felt a tear roll down his cheek that John didn’t notice, but let it fall instead of scrubbing it away. He couldn’t do this.

He knew what he had to do. He would spend this last night with John, love him, make love with him, hold him and then tomorrow he would go. Sherlock couldn’t live without John but he certainly couldn’t live with John, now.

 ----

“ _Sherlock..._ that was.... wow...mmmm...”

They lay breathless afterwards, flat on their back, covered in sweat and cum, sheets rumpled and half off the bed. John reached a hand out blindly and gripped Sherlock’s own tight.

Sherlock felt something flare up inside of him, love but also heartbreak.  This simple act of being joined by the hands caused the knowledge that he would no longer be with John to come back to him and he felt himself shaking. The tears began again, more this time though, and he felt utter hopelessness wash over him.

“Sherlock?” John felt the quiver of the man next to him. He rolled onto his side to look at him and upon seeing his tears he propped himself up on his elbow, “Sherlock what’s wrong?”

He wiped away some of the tears himself, before John took over, stroking his cheek.

“Please, love, what’s wrong?”

“Where were you?” Sherlock cried, “You were gone for weeks with no word and you ignored all of my texts and calls and you _left_ me _alone_ , John. Then you come back and act like nothing even happened!”

John blinked, once, twice, and then smiled, “Oh, _Sherlock!”_

He leant down cupping the detective’s face, and kissed him gently and sweetly, “Where did you think I was!?”

Sherlock sniffed, “You were with your sister, according to Mycroft, and you took almost all your clothes and you didn’t _tell_ me.”

John kissed him again, “Harry had a relapse, and I had to go see her. Didn’t you get my text?”

 “My phone fell in the Thames. And Mycroft got me a new one.” Sherlock pulled back a little to look John in the eye, “Why didn’t _you_ answer my texts?”

John grinned toothily, “Pembrokeshire, the signal is shit. I haven’t even looked at my phone yet.”

He shuffled across to grab his discarded trousers, pulling the phone out of his pocket.

He looked at the many texts he had gotten from Sherlock and he smiled, but soon his face turned confused as he read the first text. And with the next, his face softened a heart-warming look in his eye.

As he reached the last text, his eyes filled with tears, a huge watery grin on his face.

“Sherlock...” he said pulling the detective into a bone-crushing hug, “I didn’t leave you. I would never leave you, darling.”

Sherlock kissed him, “I’m sorry.”

“What for, love?”

“The tongues in the kettle.”

 “Oh you big idiot, I don’t care about the fucking tongues.” John smiled, and nuzzled his neck “I love you, you know.”

Sherlock blushed but smiled, “And I love you, so very, very much.”

John almost lunged forward to kiss Sherlock. Their lips were crushed together passionately and it was getting a bit much for Sherlock; he’d thought he’d lost John, and now he was back and they were kissing and he was going to stay. John pulled back breathless, resting his forehead against Sherlock, breath mingling, and eyes closed.

“John, never leave me, please.” He whispered.

“I won’t, I promise. I love you, Sherlock; I’ll never leave as long as you want me to stay.”

“Then you’ll be around for quite a while then.” They kissed again, “I love you, too.”

 

****

 

 

 

 


End file.
